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City Roulette ep 2 Part 2 : This doesn't feel like the Holiday's *Motive*
City Roulette ep 2 Part 1 : This doesn't feel like the Holiday's *Motive*
Help!
I’m really battling
City Roulette Ep 1: This doesn't feel like the Holidays *Daily Life*
Should I post the episode early
FINALLY!!!
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City Roulette ep 2 Part 1 : This doesn't feel like the Holiday's *Motive*
camell22
The golden doors thundered shut behind them.
A long echo carried across the cavernous hall — soft footsteps, faint murmurs, and the sound of Mariah City’s fury revving like a sports car.
Mariah (shouting): “HELLOOO?! You got the nerve to kidnap me, drop me in a discount snow globe, and you can’t even greet me at the door?!”
Her voice rang through the building.
The rest of the group lingered near the entrance, watching in stunned silence.
Jake Belle (whispering): “Oh boy. Here we go again.”
Neely Pearl: “She’s at a 12 right now, and honestly? I respect it.”
Mariah stomped forward, heels clacking against marble tiles shaped like snowflakes. She pointed toward the massive, glowing podium at the front of the hall.
Mariah: “You better come out and explain yourself like a man, a woman, a whatever-the-fuck-you-are! I don’t care if you’re Santa, Satan, or the Easter Bunny in a fur coat — you don’t just take my phone and my freedom!”
Her echo bounced off the crystal chandeliers.
No answer.
Arthur Smith stepped forward cautiously.
Arthur: “Miss City, perhaps—”
Mariah (cutting him off): “Uh-uh. Don’t ‘Miss City’ me. You stay over there, runway model, I’m busy starting a revolution!”
She turned back toward the podium, fists planted on her hips.
Mariah: “This place looks like a rejected Hallmark set! Who designed this interior — a blind elf with a Pinterest addiction?!”
Johnathan Coffee snorted behind his hand.
Johnathan: “I’m not saying she’s wrong…”
Will King: “You’re not saying she’s safe either.”
Mariah continued, voice rising:
“Gold everywhere, fake-ass snow, Christmas trees taller than my patience! What kind of ‘holiday spirit’ is this supposed to be? It’s giving 3-star mall Santa energy!”
The others started to chuckle despite themselves.
Even Mark Traverse, arms crossed, cracked a smirk.
Mark: “Low-key, she’s saying what we’re all thinking.”
Mariah (pointing upward): “And you! Yeah, you, Mr. Mayor-Whatever! You got your little speakers, your big spooky voice — come out and say it to my face!”
The sound system crackled to life again.
A low hum filled the air — static, faintly musical.
Then a voice: smooth, teasing, too composed.
Harold Yamaki:
“Ah… I see our most spirited guest has arrived.”
Mariah froze, eyes narrowing.
Mariah: “Oh, you’ve got jokes, huh?”
She looked up, searching for a speaker.
Mariah: “Say that to my face, Furball McMayor!”
A faint chuckle echoed, warm and calm, in total contrast to her energy.
Harold:
“You have quite the presence, Miss City. It’s refreshing. I was beginning to think all of you had forgotten how to… express emotion.”
Mariah: “Oh, I’ve got plenty of emotion, baby. You want anger? I got that. You want rage? I got options!”
She pointed toward the walls.
Mariah: “But I don’t got a damn phone, and that’s a federal crime in my book!”
Neely Pearl: “She’s not wrong. That’s influencer manslaughter.”
Paulie Louis (grinning): “Someone stop her before she commits arson.”
Julian Merwin: “No, no, let her. This is art.”
The voice continued, unfazed.
Harold:
“You’ll get your belongings back soon. For now, I simply wanted everyone to gather. I thought the Town Hall might… lift your spirits.”
Mariah (sarcastic): “Yeah, nothing says ‘holiday cheer’ like imprisonment!”
She started pacing in circles, arms waving.
Mariah: “You expect me to celebrate while being held hostage by some neon furball overlord?! Nah, boo-boo, this ain’t it!”
Will King (under his breath): “I think she broke the mayor.”
Mark (smirking): “Or he’s into it.”
Neely: “You say that like it’s not both.”
The chandeliers above flickered faintly — a pulse of light spreading through the hall.
Harold’s voice softened.
Harold:
“You’ll understand soon enough. But before anything else… introductions are in order. I’d like to meet my guests face to face.”
Mariah (mocking tone): “Oh, how formal! You want us to curtsy too? Or maybe sing you a carol?”
She started fake-singing under her breath:
Mariah (singing): “On the first day of Christmas, my captor gave to me— a trauma-inducing mystery!”
The others burst into laughter.
Robert Finn: “Ten outta ten. Chart topper.”
Heather Metal: “It’s giving Seasonal Depression: The Musical.”
But before anyone could respond, the lights dimmed completely.
A single spotlight illuminated the center of the stage.
And there, stepping out from behind the curtain, was Mayor Harold Yamaki.
Tall, confident, faintly glowing in the neon reflection — black tail swaying behind him, ears twitching, eyes shimmering gold under the soft light.
He smiled faintly.
Harold: “Now then... shall we begin?”
Mariah (arms crossed): “Oh, we’re beginning, alright.”
She stormed forward, finger pointed right at him.
Mariah: “I got questions, I got complaints, and I got time—so you better start explaining before I start throwing hands and holiday decorations!”
Harold (grinning): “I do love enthusiasm.”
The camera slowly zoomed out as the rest of the group followed, tension simmering beneath the laughter.
Snow drifted through the skylight above — silent, beautiful, and fake.
All 26 stood frozen as Mayor Harold Yamaki stepped forward, his voice echoing smooth as silk, tail lazily flicking behind him. His golden eyes scanned the group like a cat watching a line of toy mice.
Harold Yamaki:
“Welcome, everyone. My name is Harold Yamaki — your humble mayor of Neon City. It’s a pleasure to finally meet my lovely citizens face-to-face.”
The silence in the hall was thick enough to cut with a knife.
Mariah City: “Oh, we’re so lucky! The guy who kidnapped us is polite. How thoughtful.”
Jake Belle (muttering): “He’s got that ‘CEO who drinks milk straight from the glass’ vibe.”
Julian Merwin (whispering): “Milk or blood, I can’t tell.”
Harold only smiled wider, his ears twitching.
Harold:
“Now, before you get the wrong idea — yes, I brought you here. All twenty-six of you, each of you remarkable in your own right. The best of your fields. Ultimates, if you will.”
The word hung in the air like frost.
Harold:
“You’ve been gathered here for a simple reason: to participate… in a little game.”
Arthur Present: “A game?”
Harold: “A killing game.”
The room exploded.
Robert Finn: “You’ve gotta be kidding me—”
Heather Metal: “Excuse me WHAT?!”
Mark Traverse: “You drag me here for a snuff-film social experiment?!”
Neely Pearl: “That’s not the collab I signed up for, darling.”
Mariah (shouting): “HELL NO! I don’t even kill bugs!”
Harold raised a gloved hand; the chatter cut instantly, as though the air itself obeyed him.
Harold:
“Please, let’s not be dramatic. Think of it as... an opportunity. A test of humanity under the glittering lights.”
Will King: “Bro. You sound like a final boss.”
Harold (grinning): “How flattering.”
He began pacing slowly across the marble floor, his boots echoing with soft authority.
Harold:
“Here are the rules, my dear citizens. You will live within this city — comfortably, freely, indefinitely. You may eat, sleep, and play as you wish. Everything you need is provided. However—”
He paused, turning toward them. His smile sharpened.
Harold:
“If any of you wish to leave, there is only one way: commit a murder… and do not get caught.”
The sound of the fountain outside seemed to stop altogether.
Aruha Suguyama: “...Murder?”
Harold: “Yes. End another’s life.”
Emma Violet: “That’s insane.”
Harold: “No, no, it’s festive! After all — what’s a game without stakes?”
Riko Hoyomisha (snapping): “You expect us to kill each other like animals?!”
Harold: “No, no. Like humans. With purpose.”
Julian Merwin: “You’re out of your damn mind.”
Harold (amused): “Perhaps. But madness and genius share a heartbeat.”
Mariah: “Alright, cat-man! So let me get this straight — you lock us up in this sparkly deathtrap, tell us to murder people for your entertainment, and I’m supposed to just vibe?”
Harold: “You’re free to ‘vibe,’ as you say. Or you can take initiative.”
Heather Metal: “So, what, we kill someone and you just let us walk out?”
Paulie Louis, who’d been silent until now, stepped forward, arms crossed. Her voice was calm, but her eyes were sharp.
Paulie Louis: “If one were to commit a murder, would they simply walk away scot-free?”
Harold turned to her, clearly pleased by the question.
Harold:
“Ah — a logical mind. I admire that. No, my dear. It’s not quite that easy. You see, when a murder occurs, the city itself initiates an investigation phase. You’ll all be free to search for evidence, clues, or lies.”
He raised a small device — a sleek remote with a glowing red paw-print emblem.
Harold:
“Once the investigation period ends, you’ll all gather right here… for what I call a Class Trial. During this trial, you’ll discuss, debate, and accuse.”
He smiled wider, fangs flashing under the golden light.
Harold:
“If the group correctly identifies the culprit — the ‘blackened’ — then the killer will face execution. If the group accuses the wrong person… well… the blackened wins. They walk free. And the rest of you…”
He snapped his fingers. The chandeliers dimmed, a low hum filling the air.
Harold:
“...will die.”
A beat of pure silence.
Kayegama Yoshe: “You’re serious.”
Harold: “Deadly so.”
Will King (quietly): “Dude, this is like a horror game I can’t quit.”
Robert: “This is retail all over again.”
Neely Pearl: “At least retail had bathroom breaks.”
Mark Traverse: “What the hell is wrong with you?!”
Harold (shrugging): “Holiday spirit, perhaps.”
He leaned casually against the podium, tail flicking side to side.
Harold:
“Of course, you can choose not to kill. You can all coexist peacefully here — eat, talk, sing carols, celebrate eternity under these lights. That is one path.”
“Or — if the urge to leave becomes too strong — you can take the other.”
The group shifted uncomfortably. Some angry, others afraid.
Paulie Mae (quietly): “You’re testing us.”
Harold: “Exactly. Tests reveal truth.”
Mariah City (gritting her teeth): “You can take your test and shove it up your neon tail, Harold!”
Harold (chuckling): “Language, Miss City — this is a family-friendly event.”
Mariah: “Family-friendly?! There’s nothing family-friendly about murder!”
Harold’s voice softened, almost fond.
Harold:
“Oh, but it’s the season of giving, is it not? I’m simply giving you — a choice.”
The lights slowly brightened again, washing the hall in golden glow.
Harold:
“So, my beloved citizens, enjoy your time here. Laugh, eat, live. For now. The next chapter of this game begins... when one of you decides it should.”
He bowed elegantly, one hand over his heart, the other brushing the air like a performer taking his final curtain call.
Harold:
“Merry Christmas, Neon City. Let’s make this season... unforgettable.”
The holographic wreath behind him shimmered blood-red for a brief moment before returning to gold.
The camera lingered on the group’s faces — shock, fear, defiance.
Mariah: “You’ve lost your damn mind.”
Harold: “Oh, I lost that long ago.”
He turned away, his tail swaying lazily as the lights dimmed again.
The golden glow faded into red, and the faint echo of his laugh filled the room.
Arthur Smith: “You can’t be serious! You expect us to kill each other just to leave?!”
Will King: “Yeah, that’s not happening, man. I’d rather stay locked in here forever than hurt anyone.”
Robert Finn: “Speak for yourself, I’ll die of secondhand stress before that happens!”
Heather Metal: “You think any of us are gonna play along with your psycho game? You’re delusional!”
The crowd erupted — overlapping voices filling the hall.
Emma Violet: “We’re not gonna kill anyone!”
Paulie Mae: “You can’t just expect people to—”
Jake Belle: “You kidnapped twenty-six people for a murder game! You think that’s normal?!”
Julian Merwin: “This is giving ‘mental breakdown with production value.’”
Mark Traverse: “Bro, you think anyone’s dumb enough to fall for that bait?!”
Harold just smiled.
Unmoving. Patient. Like a cat watching chaos it started.
He let them shout until the noise reached its peak — then raised one hand.
Instant silence.
Harold Yamaki:
“Oh, my, my… you’re all so passionate. It’s adorable.”
His voice dripped with playful cruelty.
Harold:
“You say you won’t kill. You believe that, truly. But belief is a fragile thing. You don’t know each other — not really. You know titles, not hearts.”
He stepped down from the podium, boots clicking softly.
His eyes glimmered under the chandelier light.
Harold:
“All it takes is one whisper, one secret, one motive. Then, someone you trust will become someone’s headline.”
A hush fell over the room.
The playful twinkle in his tone only made the words more chilling.
Harold:
“You may think you’re united, but desperation is the sharpest blade. A friend can kill a friend, a lover can betray a lover, and all it takes…”
He snapped his fingers.
Harold:
“…is a reason.”
Myrtle Chang: “You’re sick.”
Harold (smiling): “Oh, I’ve been called worse.”
Arthur Present: “You think you can break us with words?”
Harold: “Oh, not with words. With truth.”
He started circling them slowly, like a predator toying with its prey.
His tail flicked lazily as he leaned near Paulie Louis, speaking softly.
Harold:
“You asked about walking away, didn’t you, dear Paulie? Tell me — are you sure everyone here would rather die than escape?”
Paulie’s eyes hardened, but she didn’t answer.
Mariah City: “Oh, hell no — don’t start that manipulative therapy crap with us, Mr. Cat Man!”
She stepped forward, finger jabbing toward him.
Mariah: “You don’t scare me! You ain’t nothing but a furry with a god complex!”
A few people gasped.
Neely Pearl (snickering): “She’s gonna get us all killed.”
Julian Merwin: “I mean, I love the energy, though.”
Harold chuckled softly.
Harold:
“Feisty, aren’t we? It’s that fire I admire about you, Miss City. Though I’d suggest… controlling it.”
Mariah (snapping): “Oh, I got control, baby — and these hands are about to introduce themselves!”
She stormed toward him, fury radiating off her like heat.
Robert Finn: “Mariah, no—!”
Jackie Yamata: “Girl, don’t!”
Paulie Mae: “Mariah, stop!”
But it was too late.
Mariah lunged forward, ready to swing — and before her fist could even rise, the ceiling above let out a mechanical clunk.
Everyone froze.
Then —
WHUMP!
A gigantic bear — a real, living black bear — fell straight from the ceiling, landing right on top of Mariah.
Mariah: “WHAT—?! AAAH!! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!”
The bear let out a deep, lazy grunt. It wasn’t attacking. Just… sitting.
Right on top of her.
Like a living, breathing, 500-pound paperweight.
Neely Pearl (gasping): “Is that… a bear?!”
Will King: “Bro. He dropped a literal bear. From the ceiling.”
Julian Merwin: “That’s not security — that’s animal warfare!”
Robert Finn (shrieking): “WHY IS IT BREATHING?!”
The bear blinked slowly, yawned, and shifted its weight slightly.
Mariah groaned from underneath.
Mariah (muffled): “Get this overgrown rug off me before I lose my mind!”
Harold smiled, clasping his hands behind his back.
Harold:
“Now, now. No need to panic. He’s perfectly harmless — unless I tell him otherwise. His name’s Custard, by the way. Isn’t he adorable?”
The bear let out a low, sleepy growl — like a snore.
Heather Metal: “Adorable? He’s crushing her spine!”
Harold: “Consider it… a gentle reminder.”
He turned his gaze to the rest of the group, golden eyes glowing faintly.
Harold:
“Rule number one — violence toward the mayor is strictly prohibited. It disrupts the holiday cheer.”
“Normally, the punishment for attacking me would be far more… permanent. But since this is our first offense, I’ll be generous.”
He gestured casually.
The bear slowly stood up, gave a slow huff, and wandered off the stage — straight through a set of automated double doors that opened just for it.
Mariah groaned, lying flat on the marble floor, hair a mess, pride shattered.
Mariah: “You did not just drop a whole bear on me.”
Harold (cheerfully): “I did, yes.”
Mariah: “You’re lucky I can’t sue you!”
Harold: “On the contrary — I believe you just agreed to the terms and conditions by surviving.”
The group tried — and failed — not to laugh.
Neely Pearl (snickering): “Well, she wanted to fight him.”
Jake Belle: “And she got bearly what she asked for.”
Robert Finn: “You did not just make a pun right now!”
Mariah (snarling): “I hate all of you.”
Harold chuckled softly, clearly entertained.
Harold:
“Now that we’ve clarified the rules of conduct, let’s try to keep things… civilized. We wouldn’t want to spoil the festivities, would we?”
He returned to his podium, tail swaying slowly.
Harold:
“Remember, my dear citizens — your choices define you. Every argument, every alliance, every spark of anger… they all have consequences. Even now, some of you are beginning to wonder — who can I trust?”
The words settled like a fog over the room.
Nobody responded. Not even Mariah.
Harold (smiling):
“Good. That’s exactly how it should feel.”
He clapped his hands once, and the Town Hall lights flickered to festive red and green.
Harold:
“Now then, go enjoy your evening, everyone. Eat, drink, and be merry — while you still can.”
He turned, humming faintly as he walked offstage, the sound of his footsteps echoing softly.
Mariah (still glaring): “I swear to God, next time he drops something, it better be a clue.”
Neely Pearl: “Or a phone.”
Robert Finn: “Or therapy.”
Julian Merwin: “Girl, we’re gonna need all three.”
The camera slowly panned up toward the ceiling, where a faint claw mark — from the bear — scraped the marble above.
Snow began falling again through the skylight.
The marble floor still had a faint dusting of fur where Custard had plopped through the ceiling. Mariah City coughed and spat out a tiny snowflake of confetti that had lodged in her hair. She slid out from under the bear’s weight with an indignant squawk, hair in absolute disarray and dignity temporarily missing in action.
Jackie Yamata and Seth Norway were already at her side — one helping with hair and makeup, the other more quietly assessing whether the bear had been drugged or trained. The contrast was perfect: Jackie fussing, Patrick-star-Level glam; Seth deadpan and ominous, as if the bear might be occult.
Jackie (brushing Mariah’s hair back with theatrical care): “Girl, you look like a shattered snow globe, but in a good way.”
Mariah (snapping): “Take. Your. Hands. Off. My. Wig.”
Seth (softly): “She’ll be fine. Bear didn’t bite—just used as a reminder. Controlled.”
Jackie planted a light kiss on Mariah’s forehead like a bandage, and she swatted his hand away, huffing in a way that was equal parts fury and embarrassed gratitude.
Mariah (to Seth, low): “You see that? He drops animals from the ceiling like party favors. That’s unhinged.”
Seth (cold): “It’s theatrical control. He’s demonstrating his ability to manipulate the environment — and to weaponize life for intimidation.”
Across the auditorium the rest of the group was still buzzing — murmurs, occasional nervous laughter, forced jokes. Harold returned to the podium as if nothing had happened, tail flicking with the sort of composure that made the marquee lights seem nervous.
He lifted a hand — the room quieted reflexively. He gestured, and the stage lights dimmed into a channel of red and gold that painted everyone’s faces like ornaments.
Harold (smooth, relish in every syllable):
“Thank you for your dramatic enthusiasm. A performance is always more memorable when the audience participates.”
A murmur of nervous noise. Then Harolds’ smile widened; he turned, and two stage technicians (robotic, sterile attendants) rolled out a single gigantic present — the size of a small car — wrapped in glossy red paper trimmed with an impossibly large silver bow. It sat center-stage like a monolith of promise.
Harold: “Now then. You clamor for motive, do you not? For a reason to do what you must do or to hold your ground?”
He paced slowly around the box. Each step was choreographed.
Harold: “You struck a curious note earlier — Miss Heather mentioned there are no animals in this city. An observation I found… intriguing.”
He paused, letting the sentence hang like tinsel in wind.
Harold:
“So, for our first motive… I thought I’d give you something closer to home.”
He tapped a small console on the podium. The huge bow shuddered. A hydraulic hiss — soft, obscene — and the present’s lid peeled back in layers like a blooming metal flower.
The audience inhaled.
Inside the box were dozens of cages — stacked, compartmentalized, like a surreal pet store installed inside the present. The cages weren’t cheap wire; they were bespoke glass-and-steel units, each with soft bedding, feeders, and… a collar. Bright collars, each fitted with a tiny blinking light and a small tag. Some collars had sensors visible, little plates etched with numbers.
The animals poured into view: a dozen different species, not cartoonish but real — foxes with fur fluffed like winter stoles, raccoons peering with clever hands, a pair of owls blinking in the stage-light halo, a nervous bobcat pacing, a flock of caged parrots squawking in limited loops, a couple of small deer, and several more creatures — each striking and alive. They pressed against glass and bars, nostrils flaring and eyes reflecting the stage lights.
A stained glass of sound rose — barks, chirps, the metallic rattle of paws against cage.
Heather’s face went pale. Her earlier observation snapped into focus for everyone. The absence of animals had not been an oversight, she realized — they had been removed, contained. Now the animals were before them, with collars that blinked like countdowns.
Harold (softly): “Meet the city’s erstwhile nature. Isn’t it wonderful to reunite them with society?”
Harold (voice brightening): “Only — this holiday, they’re restless.”
The creatures chirped and shifted. A fox skittered along its enclosure, growling low. Owls beat their wings, feather dust puffing like snow. The parrots tried to mimic the mayor’s voice and produced a broken echo that was unnerving.
Harold strode to the glass and tapped one collar. The light on it switched from green to a strobe of orange; the animal screeched once and lunged against the barrier. The entire block of cages trembled with a ripple of panic.
Seth (quietly, to Jackie): “Those are control collars. He can modify their behavior remotely.”
Jackie (wide eyed): “You can’t do that to birds…”
Seth: “He already did.”
Harold turned back to them, smiling like the conductor of a very dangerous orchestra.
Harold:
“Now, as I promised — a motive. You were curious about what drives someone to kill, weren’t you?”
“Here is motive, presented plainly: fear. Hunger. Survival. Chaos.”
He tapped another button on the podium. The cage LED’s flashed; for a second eyelids went wild across animal faces — the parrots shrieked, the foxes pushed against their partitions, and a bobcat let out a sound that made blood run cold in the walls.
Harold:
“In just a moment, I will open the outer locks on these cages. I will not release the animals on you… yet.”
(he paused, and the silence thickened)
“But I will allow them to become reactive. Let them rage within their confines. Let them mark their restlessness. If you prefer not to be torn apart while the city watches, then perhaps... one of you can do what is necessary to calm them.”
A ripple of speech — no, argument — arose instantly.
Paulie Mae (soft, horrified): “You can’t—this is animal cruelty!”
Harold (mild): “It’s a test. But more importantly, it demonstrates the pressure of need.”
Mariah (voice raw): “So we hurt someone and it stops? You want us to murder to silence animals?”
Harold: “You could also... not. Coexist. But when hunger and panic rise, not all loyalties hold. That is what motives are made of.”
Harold raised his hand so nobody could interrupt. He smiled — but it was a smile that made marrow cold.
Harold:
“The collars have sensors. They monitor stress, heart rate, and external stimuli. If someone commits murder and the system records a resolution signal — the collars will register the pacification protocol and calm. The animals will quiet. The city will relax. Think of it as... a reset.”
Screams of disbelief cut like glass. The parrots screamed in sympathetic rhythmic loops. The bobcat yowled.
Seth (to Harold): “You can’t expect us to—”
Harold: “I’m not expecting. I am presenting. The options are plain.”
Paulie Louis, eyes flint-steady, stepped forward. Her voice was small but shaped in knife edges.
Paulie Louis: “If someone kills, the blackened ’walks free’… and the rest of us die if we pick wrong. And the animals are the incentive.”
Harold: “Precisely. Incentive. Motivation. Pressure.”
Jackie (hissing under breath): “You’re sick.”
Harold (sweet): “I prefer theatrical.”
Slowly, the animals’ agitation heightened. The collars started flashing faster, the sensors reactive to the mayor’s commands. The parrots bit their perch ropes; the foxes circled like small, elegant whirlwinds. The bobcat’s eyes fixed on the audience with predatory patience. It was a slow, sustained crescendo of animal panic — not released, but dangerously alive and volatile in its confinement.
Harold (leaning on the podium): “I will give you time. Tonight, tonight you may speak, form bonds, or form plans. Tomorrow, I will push the system further. But remember: motives arise quickly when Sanctuary becomes threatened.”
Mariah (shouting): “You can’t make us feel responsible for these animals being stressed! You’re the one who brought them here!”
Harold: “Indeed. I brought them here — and you are the public stage which will determine their fate.”
He let the last word sit like a bell toll.
Seth (quietly, through clenched teeth): “He’s engineering the moral calculus. He’s deliberately giving them an impetus to desperation.”
Heather (voice small, eyes on the animals): “Why remove animals from a city in the first place?”
Harold (almost playful): “Because the city was an experiment. To see how you perform when your environment is sanitized. You noticed something absent — humanity’s wildness. I thought it only fair to reintroduce it.”
The crowd murmured, splitting between rage and analysis and the thin thread of panic. Many looked at one another as if tallying who they could trust. Every pair of eyes suddenly held a different weight.
Harold clapped once — a polite, soft clap that rippled through the hall.
Harold:
“Enjoy the evening. Meaningful conversations are a great place to begin. You’ll need to know who you can rely on. Who you’d defend. Who would defend you. Motives aren’t always obvious… sometimes, they’re hunger. Sometimes, they’re petty vengeance. Sometimes, they’re necessity.”
He stepped back into the shadow of the podium, letting the cages’ lights strobe ominously.
Harold (final):
“For now, I’ll leave the animals caged, have them press and roar into your ears, but not quite break loose. Let them remind you — nothing here is permanent, and the next decision you make may be fatal... for you, or for someone else.”
The animals howled — a collective, terrifying orchestra — and the sound hit the assembled Ultimates with the force of a physical wave.
Mariah (to Jackie, voice shaking): “This is bullshit. We’re not doing this.”
Jackie: “No. We don’t have to. But we do have to survive the night.”
Seth (quietly): “And decide who we are under pressure.”
The camera pulled out as the auditorium dissolved into frantic, frightened conversations — alliances formed in whispers, accusations in a glance — everyone’s faces lit by the blinking collars and the cold stage lights. Above them, Harold watched from the podium like a conductor awaiting the first note.
The cages rattled like a drumbeat. The collar lights blinked faster — orange, then red, then a feverish pink.
Screams built in the background: high animal shrieks, the scrape of claws on metal, wings thudding against glass.
Mariah City took a slow step backward, trembling.
Mariah: “He’s bluffing. He’s gotta be bluffing.”
Seth Norway (quietly): “No. He’s demonstrating escalation.”
Harold Yamaki (cheerful): “Oh, I do love that word. Escalation.”
He pressed another button on the podium.
The ribboned stage lights dimmed to black and red stripes.
The giant present split further apart — like a blooming nightmare flower — and the cages rose slowly on mechanical lifts. The room filled with the sound of locks disengaging.
Julian Merwin: “Harold. Don’t you dare.”
Harold: “Oh, I dare.”
Click. Click. Click.
Every click was a lock coming undone.
The animals went silent for one long, terrible heartbeat.
Then the collars flashed crimson, and the sound came — growls, shrieks, frantic clattering.
Heather Metal: “Oh my god—!”
Paulie Louis: “He’s actually doing it—!”
Harold (pleasantly): “Ah-ah. Remember, you always have a choice.”
He tapped the final switch.
The cage doors burst open.
A hurricane of sound filled the Town Hall.
Foxes shot out like blurs of snow; birds screamed and filled the rafters in a cyclone of feathers. The bobcat vaulted from its cage, hissing. The parrots mimicked the crowd’s screams in horrible broken loops —
“HELP! HELP! HELP—!”
“RUN—RUN—RUN—!”
Someone screamed — maybe Will, maybe Mark — as a raccoon skittered between their legs.
The deer burst from the side enclosure, hooves slamming marble.
Emma Violet: “MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!”
The crowd scattered. The elegant, snow-globed Town Hall dissolved into chaos — tables overturned, chairs splintered, lights flickering.
The enormous Christmas wreath snapped loose and crashed onto the floor, scattering ornaments like shrapnel.
Harold just stood on his podium, hands clasped behind his back, smiling.
Harold:
“Marvelous, isn’t it? Panic — the purest form of self-awareness.”
A fox leapt from the stage toward the crowd — Hue Trinity grabbed Nicholas Sour by the collar, dragging him backward as it hit the floor where he’d stood.
Nicholas: “MY CANDY BAG—!”
Hue: “SCREW YOUR CANDY BAG, RUN!”
Feathers poured like snow as parrots dive-bombed the chandeliers. The lights strobed.
Mariah shrieked as a raccoon scuttled over her boots; Neely Pearl kicked it gently aside, pulling her toward the doors.
Neely: “Come on, diva, this is not the time for another concert!”
Mariah: “Screw you—AND THE CAT-MAN—AND THIS WHOLE FAKE CITY!”
Seth and Arthur Present tried to pull open the main entrance doors — the same ones that had shocked them earlier — and the mechanisms groaned.
Seth: “It’s locked again—!”
Arthur: “Not for long!”
A hawk dove from above; Seth ducked. Arthur threw a chair at it. The impact shattered a pane of frosted glass. Cold air rushed in, whistling like a ghost.
Paulie Mae: “There! The side exit!”
She pointed toward a smaller corridor — the emergency hall lined with stained glass.
The deer smashed into the podium, shattering the mic and the console.
The mayor didn’t flinch. He raised his voice calmly above the chaos.
Harold:
“Run, run, run, little citizens! Isn’t it invigorating? You were all so calm before — look at you now! Alive, terrified, beautiful.”
Riko Hoyomisha grabbed Kayegama Yoshe’s arm as they ran.
Riko: “We need to go—!”
Kayegama: “He’s enjoying this. He’s watching everything!”
Riko: “Then let’s give him a show!”
They vaulted over the fallen tree, narrowly avoiding a fox that darted across the room.
The glass above the front door suddenly shattered completely — and for a split second, silence.
Then — creak, crack, BOOM — the massive double doors blew open.
The cold December wind surged through the hall. Snowflakes twisted into the strobe lights.
Harold’s voice (amplified through hidden speakers):
“Oh my, the door’s open! What impeccable timing.”
He laughed — genuine laughter, rich and delighted — as the Ultimates poured out through the open entrance, pushing, stumbling, tripping over each other and the shattered glass.
Mariah (screaming as she runs): “I’M SUING EVERYONE IN THIS CITY!”
Jackie: “Good luck finding a lawyer, sis!”
Robert Finn: “The animals are the lawyers now!”
Neely Pearl: “Run first, joke later!”
They tumbled into the neon-snowed plaza, the red and green lights of the city flickering overhead like sirens. The distant sound of growls echoed from inside the Town Hall.
The camera lingered back on Harold, standing amid the wreckage, untouched.
Snow and feathers drifted around him. The animals prowled the floor below the stage, but none approached him — as if he carried an invisible boundary they wouldn’t cross.
He raised his hand, catching a single floating ornament that had survived the chaos.
He examined his reflection in its cracked surface and smiled faintly.
Harold (softly, to himself):
“Perfect. Let the festivities begin.”
The lights above him flickered one final time —
the giant Christmas tree outside glowed blood-red for an instant —
~ Emma's POV~
The camera follows Emma Violet, sprinting through the icy street, breath fogging the air. Her skateboard dangles from her backpack, bumping against her shoulder as she runs. Behind her, something heavy thunders across the pavement — each step shaking loose snow from rooftops.
A low, guttural roar splits the silence.
Emma (gasping): “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me—!”
The camera whips around: a bear, massive and furious, barreling after her. The same kind of bear Harold dropped on Mariah — but this one isn’t calm. Its collar blinks an angry crimson.
Emma darts around a corner, sliding on the slick road. She ducks between parked holiday floats and glowing candy-cane displays, knocking over a giant decorative reindeer.
Emma (panting): “Nope. Nope. Nope. Not today, Santa!”
The bear crashes through the float behind her, fake snow exploding into the air like smoke. A huge wreath spins into the street.
Emma sprints across the fountain plaza, neon reflections swirling on the water’s surface. The bear’s reflection looms larger, closer, closing the gap.
She grabs a fallen Christmas garland, looping it around a pole — vaulting herself forward in a desperate leap. The bear lunges — claws catching the garland — it snaps.
The momentum carries the bear forward, straight toward Latoya’s Café & Diner.
SMASH!
The glass windows shatter in a burst of blue and red neon light. Shards fly through the snow as the bear’s massive frame crashes into the tables inside. The building erupts with screams — chaotic, overlapping, human panic mixed with the bear’s furious bellows.
The camera doesn’t linger — it cuts with Emma as she ducks behind a snow-covered car, trembling, eyes wide. The café’s interior flickers red through the shattered glass.
Emma (under breath): “No... no, no, no... please tell me nobody—”
Another roar shakes the block.
Emma takes off again, sprinting toward the boys’ house. Her boots pound the pavement, the neon glow streaking past her as the camera sways with each frantic step. She slides across the icy porch, grabs the doorknob, twists it—
Unlocked.
She bursts inside and slams the door shut behind her, locking it with trembling hands. The sound of her rapid breathing fills the quiet.
The room is dimly lit, only the flicker of a TV that’s lost signal glowing in the corner. A pair of red holiday lights blink softly in the window, throwing her face in flashes of color.
Emma (breathing heavily): “Okay… okay, Emma. You’re fine. You’re good. You’re—”
A floorboard creaks behind her.
She spins.
Hue Trinity steps out from the shadows of the living room, his long braids half-lit by the TV’s static glow. His yo-yo dangles loosely in his hand, the string glimmering faintly.
Hue (low, steady): “Close it. Deadbolt.”
Emma: “I already did.”
Hue: “Good.”
They stand there for a second — both panting, trying to catch their breath, the sounds of chaos faintly muffled outside.
Emma (breathless laugh): “You too, huh?”
Hue: “Yeah. Tried to make it to Clarence’s shop, but—”
He glances toward the window, where a flicker of motion passes — a fox darting across the snow. The distant sound of more screams.
Hue: “—I figured I’d rather not get turned into Christmas dinner.”
Emma leans against the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor, still shaking.
Emma: “A bear. A freaking bear, Hue.”
Hue (half-laughing, half-serious): “Yeah, I saw it. You outran it?”
Emma: “Barely.”
They both pause. The pun hits. Despite the terror, they share a quiet, disbelieving laugh — the kind that comes from exhaustion and adrenaline.
Emma (rubbing her face): “I hate that this is funny right now.”
Hue: “That’s the point. If we stop laughing, we start losing it.”
For a long second, they just sit there — listening to the muffled chaos outside. The faint, rhythmic flicker of lights through the frost-covered window gives the scene an uneasy calm.
Hue (quietly): “You think anyone got hurt in the café?”
Emma doesn’t answer right away. She stares at the floor. The only sound is the hum of broken electricity in the walls.
Emma (soft): “I don’t know. I hope not.”
The lights flicker again — for just a moment, they both see movement outside. A shadow — too big to be human — passing by the window. The collar light glows faintly red.
They freeze. Neither speaks. The shadow pauses at the door.
Hue (bare whisper): “Don’t move.”
The bear’s heavy breathing is faintly audible through the door — slow, deliberate.
Then silence.
Hue grips his yo-yo tighter, ready to strike. Emma clutches the doorknob instinctively, afraid to breathe.
A long pause. Then the sound of slow footsteps retreating into the snow.
Emma (exhales quietly): “We’re not safe here.”
Hue (grimly): “We’re not safe anywhere.”
The camera pans up to the window — outside, the bear’s shape vanishes down the street, snow swirling behind it. The glowing red collar blinks out into the dark.
~Guys House~
The camera pans across the living room. A cracked mug steams on the table; the fireplace TV casts faint static light. Emma and Hue sit on the couch, trying to breathe normally again.
Emma (half-laugh): “You know what’s crazy? We were supposed to have a quiet Christmas.”
Hue (smirking): “Yeah, quiet’s definitely canceled.”
Emma: “Guess the universe hates me.”
Hue: “The universe hates everyone right now.”
They share a small, nervous laugh. Outside, wind howls through the alley. Then — a sharp crack.
Both freeze.
Hue: “…What was that?”
Emma (listening): “Not the bear.”
Another crack. This one sharper — glass breaking. The sound comes from the kitchen.
Hue gestures for her to stay back and steps cautiously toward the hall. The camera follows from behind his shoulder: pale light flickering through the doorway, snowflakes drifting through a broken windowpane.
Something moves on the counter.
At first it looks like black ribbon sliding down the cabinets — then more appear. Dozens of thin shapes slither from the window frame and vent grates. The floor begins to shimmer with motion.
Hue (whisper): “…Snakes.”
The first one drops onto the tile with a wet thud. Then another. And another. A hissing tide floods the kitchen floor, glinting red from the holiday lights.
Emma (shrieking): “NOPE — NOPE — NOPE — NOPE — !”
A large snake rears up and lunges. Hue reacts instantly — his yo-yo snaps forward with a metallic whirr, striking the creature mid-air and flinging it back into the sink. It hisses and coils away.
Hue (shouting): “UPSTAIRS! NOW!”
Emma doesn’t argue. They sprint toward the staircase as more snakes pour into the living room vents like water spilling downhill. Hue lashes his yo-yo across the bannister, knocking back two that slither close to Emma’s boots. The sound of scales scraping wood follows them up the steps.
Emma (panting): “This is NOT a holiday special!”
Hue: “More like ‘How the Grinch Ate the Animal Control Budget.’ Keep moving!”
They reach the landing. Hue yanks open the nearest door — a small bathroom. He shoves Emma inside, slams the door, and twists the lock.
For a moment, only breathing.
Hue flips on the overhead light. The hum is deafening in the silence. Water drips from the faucet in steady beats. He wedges a towel under the gap at the bottom of the door.
Emma (gasping, shaking): “Tell me that didn’t just happen.”
Hue (checking his yo-yo string): “Oh, it happened. They’re controlled too — had collars on some of ’em.”
Emma: “He released snakes into a holiday city. What’s next, reindeer with lasers?”
Hue: “Don’t give him ideas.”
They both laugh weakly, the sound brittle against the tile walls. The laughter dies when something thumps against the bathroom door — once, twice, then slides away. A faint hiss trails down the hallway.
Hue sets the yo-yo on the counter, string taut, ready.
Hue (quietly): “We wait here. Until it’s quiet. Then we move.”
Emma (nodding): “Yeah. Wait. And breathe.”
They sit on the floor, backs to the tub. The bathroom light flickers, casting alternating shadows across their faces. Outside, the faint rasp of scales fades into the night.
Emma (whisper): “…Hue?”
Hue: “Yeah?”
Emma: “Thanks. For not letting me get eaten by reptile Christmas decorations.”
Hue (half-smile): “Anytime.”
The camera lingers on the closed door, towel trembling slightly as something brushes past on the other side. Then silence.
Civilians:
Heather Metal/ Ultimate VSCO Girl
Kayegama Yoshe/Ultimate Freestyle rollerblader times_places
Riko Hoyomisha/Ultimate Fencer paul
Johnathan Coffee/Ultimate Barista Joshua
Aruha Suguyama/ Ultimate violinist blue
Arthur Smith/Ultimate male model Imprincearthur
Jessie Kowalski/Ultimate Tarot Card reader Jessiekowalski
Jake Belle/ Ultimate Scam Artist
Will King/Ultimate Gamer Icebeast
Mark Traverse/Ultimate Influencer evrtngbagel
Mariah City/ Ultimate Livestreamer
Myrtle Chang/Ultimate Swimmer stuartlittle16
Neely Pearl/ Ultimate Drag Queen
Julian Merwin/ Ultimate male stripper
Robert Finn/ Ultimate Technician
Austin Sobriquet/Ultimate professor Sobriquet
Chase Hallow/ Ultimate Mangaka
Jackie Yamata/ Ultimate Pop Idol
Emma Violet/ Ultimate Skateboarder
Paulie Mae/ Ultimate Pottery Maker
Seth Norway/ Ultimate Occultist
Arthur Present/ Ultimate Knight
Hue Trinity/ Ultimate Yo-yo Pro
Paris Ross/ Ultimate Cat Lover
Nicholas Sour/ Ultimate Candy Lover
Pualie Louis/ Ultimate Seamstress
Reader's Tag:
Spinfur (as punishment)
Kovaze wants to be rude, so this is a two-parter, and also, so sorry this is late. I got into a bad accident (hurt my leg badly), so I was resting and doing tournament things (My team won #teamKemi)
Her voice rang through the building.
The rest of the group lingered near the entrance, watching in stunned silence.
Jake Belle (whispering): “Oh boy. Here we go again.”
Neely Pearl: “She’s at a 12 right now, and honestly? I respect it.”
Mariah stomped forward, heels clacking against marble tiles shaped like snowflakes. She pointed toward the massive, glowing podium at the front of the hall.
Mariah: “You better come out and explain yourself like a man, a woman, a whatever-the-fuck-you-are! I don’t care if you’re Santa, Satan, or the Easter Bunny in a fur coat — you don’t just take my phone and my freedom!”
Her echo bounced off the crystal chandeliers.
No answer.
Arthur Smith stepped forward cautiously.
Arthur: “Miss City, perhaps—”
Mariah (cutting him off): “Uh-uh. Don’t ‘Miss City’ me. You stay over there, runway model, I’m busy starting a revolution!”
She turned back toward the podium, fists planted on her hips.
Mariah: “This place looks like a rejected Hallmark set! Who designed this interior — a blind elf with a Pinterest addiction?!”
Johnathan Coffee snorted behind his hand.
Johnathan: “I’m not saying she’s wrong…”
Will King: “You’re not saying she’s safe either.”
Mariah continued, voice rising:
“Gold everywhere, fake-ass snow, Christmas trees taller than my patience! What kind of ‘holiday spirit’ is this supposed to be? It’s giving 3-star mall Santa energy!”
The others started to chuckle despite themselves.
Even Mark Traverse, arms crossed, cracked a smirk.
Mark: “Low-key, she’s saying what we’re all thinking.”
Mariah (pointing upward): “And you! Yeah, you, Mr. Mayor-Whatever! You got your little speakers, your big spooky voice — come out and say it to my face!”
The sound system crackled to life again.
A low hum filled the air — static, faintly musical.
Then a voice: smooth, teasing, too composed.
Harold Yamaki:
“Ah… I see our most spirited guest has arrived.”
Mariah froze, eyes narrowing.
Mariah: “Oh, you’ve got jokes, huh?”
She looked up, searching for a speaker.
Mariah: “Say that to my face, Furball McMayor!”
A faint chuckle echoed, warm and calm, in total contrast to her energy.
Harold:
“You have quite the presence, Miss City. It’s refreshing. I was beginning to think all of you had forgotten how to… express emotion.”
Mariah: “Oh, I’ve got plenty of emotion, baby. You want anger? I got that. You want rage? I got options!”
She pointed toward the walls.
Mariah: “But I don’t got a damn phone, and that’s a federal crime in my book!”
Neely Pearl: “She’s not wrong. That’s influencer manslaughter.”
Paulie Louis (grinning): “Someone stop her before she commits arson.”
Julian Merwin: “No, no, let her. This is art.”
The voice continued, unfazed.
Harold:
“You’ll get your belongings back soon. For now, I simply wanted everyone to gather. I thought the Town Hall might… lift your spirits.”
Mariah (sarcastic): “Yeah, nothing says ‘holiday cheer’ like imprisonment!”
She started pacing in circles, arms waving.
Mariah: “You expect me to celebrate while being held hostage by some neon furball overlord?! Nah, boo-boo, this ain’t it!”
Will King (under his breath): “I think she broke the mayor.”
Mark (smirking): “Or he’s into it.”
Neely: “You say that like it’s not both.”
The chandeliers above flickered faintly — a pulse of light spreading through the hall.
Harold’s voice softened.
Harold:
“You’ll understand soon enough. But before anything else… introductions are in order. I’d like to meet my guests face to face.”
Mariah (mocking tone): “Oh, how formal! You want us to curtsy too? Or maybe sing you a carol?”
She started fake-singing under her breath:
Mariah (singing): “On the first day of Christmas, my captor gave to me— a trauma-inducing mystery!”
The others burst into laughter.
Robert Finn: “Ten outta ten. Chart topper.”
Heather Metal: “It’s giving Seasonal Depression: The Musical.”
But before anyone could respond, the lights dimmed completely.
A single spotlight illuminated the center of the stage.
And there, stepping out from behind the curtain, was Mayor Harold Yamaki.
Tall, confident, faintly glowing in the neon reflection — black tail swaying behind him, ears twitching, eyes shimmering gold under the soft light.
He smiled faintly.
Harold: “Now then... shall we begin?”
Mariah (arms crossed): “Oh, we’re beginning, alright.”
She stormed forward, finger pointed right at him.
Mariah: “I got questions, I got complaints, and I got time—so you better start explaining before I start throwing hands and holiday decorations!”
Harold (grinning): “I do love enthusiasm.”
The camera slowly zoomed out as the rest of the group followed, tension simmering beneath the laughter.
Snow drifted through the skylight above — silent, beautiful, and fake.
All 26 stood frozen as Mayor Harold Yamaki stepped forward, his voice echoing smooth as silk, tail lazily flicking behind him. His golden eyes scanned the group like a cat watching a line of toy mice.
Harold Yamaki:
“Welcome, everyone. My name is Harold Yamaki — your humble mayor of Neon City. It’s a pleasure to finally meet my lovely citizens face-to-face.”
The silence in the hall was thick enough to cut with a knife.
Mariah City: “Oh, we’re so lucky! The guy who kidnapped us is polite. How thoughtful.”
Jake Belle (muttering): “He’s got that ‘CEO who drinks milk straight from the glass’ vibe.”
Julian Merwin (whispering): “Milk or blood, I can’t tell.”
Harold only smiled wider, his ears twitching.
Harold:
“Now, before you get the wrong idea — yes, I brought you here. All twenty-six of you, each of you remarkable in your own right. The best of your fields. Ultimates, if you will.”
The word hung in the air like frost.
Harold:
“You’ve been gathered here for a simple reason: to participate… in a little game.”
Arthur Present: “A game?”
Harold: “A killing game.”
The room exploded.
Robert Finn: “You’ve gotta be kidding me—”
Heather Metal: “Excuse me WHAT?!”
Mark Traverse: “You drag me here for a snuff-film social experiment?!”
Neely Pearl: “That’s not the collab I signed up for, darling.”
Mariah (shouting): “HELL NO! I don’t even kill bugs!”
Harold raised a gloved hand; the chatter cut instantly, as though the air itself obeyed him.
Harold:
“Please, let’s not be dramatic. Think of it as... an opportunity. A test of humanity under the glittering lights.”
Will King: “Bro. You sound like a final boss.”
Harold (grinning): “How flattering.”
He began pacing slowly across the marble floor, his boots echoing with soft authority.
Harold:
“Here are the rules, my dear citizens. You will live within this city — comfortably, freely, indefinitely. You may eat, sleep, and play as you wish. Everything you need is provided. However—”
He paused, turning toward them. His smile sharpened.
Harold:
“If any of you wish to leave, there is only one way: commit a murder… and do not get caught.”
The sound of the fountain outside seemed to stop altogether.
Aruha Suguyama: “...Murder?”
Harold: “Yes. End another’s life.”
Emma Violet: “That’s insane.”
Harold: “No, no, it’s festive! After all — what’s a game without stakes?”
Riko Hoyomisha (snapping): “You expect us to kill each other like animals?!”
Harold: “No, no. Like humans. With purpose.”
Julian Merwin: “You’re out of your damn mind.”
Harold (amused): “Perhaps. But madness and genius share a heartbeat.”
Mariah: “Alright, cat-man! So let me get this straight — you lock us up in this sparkly deathtrap, tell us to murder people for your entertainment, and I’m supposed to just vibe?”
Harold: “You’re free to ‘vibe,’ as you say. Or you can take initiative.”
Heather Metal: “So, what, we kill someone and you just let us walk out?”
Paulie Louis, who’d been silent until now, stepped forward, arms crossed. Her voice was calm, but her eyes were sharp.
Paulie Louis: “If one were to commit a murder, would they simply walk away scot-free?”
Harold turned to her, clearly pleased by the question.
Harold:
“Ah — a logical mind. I admire that. No, my dear. It’s not quite that easy. You see, when a murder occurs, the city itself initiates an investigation phase. You’ll all be free to search for evidence, clues, or lies.”
He raised a small device — a sleek remote with a glowing red paw-print emblem.
Harold:
“Once the investigation period ends, you’ll all gather right here… for what I call a Class Trial. During this trial, you’ll discuss, debate, and accuse.”
He smiled wider, fangs flashing under the golden light.
Harold:
“If the group correctly identifies the culprit — the ‘blackened’ — then the killer will face execution. If the group accuses the wrong person… well… the blackened wins. They walk free. And the rest of you…”
He snapped his fingers. The chandeliers dimmed, a low hum filling the air.
Harold:
“...will die.”
A beat of pure silence.
Kayegama Yoshe: “You’re serious.”
Harold: “Deadly so.”
Will King (quietly): “Dude, this is like a horror game I can’t quit.”
Robert: “This is retail all over again.”
Neely Pearl: “At least retail had bathroom breaks.”
Mark Traverse: “What the hell is wrong with you?!”
Harold (shrugging): “Holiday spirit, perhaps.”
He leaned casually against the podium, tail flicking side to side.
Harold:
“Of course, you can choose not to kill. You can all coexist peacefully here — eat, talk, sing carols, celebrate eternity under these lights. That is one path.”
“Or — if the urge to leave becomes too strong — you can take the other.”
The group shifted uncomfortably. Some angry, others afraid.
Paulie Mae (quietly): “You’re testing us.”
Harold: “Exactly. Tests reveal truth.”
Mariah City (gritting her teeth): “You can take your test and shove it up your neon tail, Harold!”
Harold (chuckling): “Language, Miss City — this is a family-friendly event.”
Mariah: “Family-friendly?! There’s nothing family-friendly about murder!”
Harold’s voice softened, almost fond.
Harold:
“Oh, but it’s the season of giving, is it not? I’m simply giving you — a choice.”
The lights slowly brightened again, washing the hall in golden glow.
Harold:
“So, my beloved citizens, enjoy your time here. Laugh, eat, live. For now. The next chapter of this game begins... when one of you decides it should.”
He bowed elegantly, one hand over his heart, the other brushing the air like a performer taking his final curtain call.
Harold:
“Merry Christmas, Neon City. Let’s make this season... unforgettable.”
The holographic wreath behind him shimmered blood-red for a brief moment before returning to gold.
The camera lingered on the group’s faces — shock, fear, defiance.
Mariah: “You’ve lost your damn mind.”
Harold: “Oh, I lost that long ago.”
He turned away, his tail swaying lazily as the lights dimmed again.
The golden glow faded into red, and the faint echo of his laugh filled the room.
Arthur Smith: “You can’t be serious! You expect us to kill each other just to leave?!”
Will King: “Yeah, that’s not happening, man. I’d rather stay locked in here forever than hurt anyone.”
Robert Finn: “Speak for yourself, I’ll die of secondhand stress before that happens!”
Heather Metal: “You think any of us are gonna play along with your psycho game? You’re delusional!”
The crowd erupted — overlapping voices filling the hall.
Emma Violet: “We’re not gonna kill anyone!”
Paulie Mae: “You can’t just expect people to—”
Jake Belle: “You kidnapped twenty-six people for a murder game! You think that’s normal?!”
Julian Merwin: “This is giving ‘mental breakdown with production value.’”
Mark Traverse: “Bro, you think anyone’s dumb enough to fall for that bait?!”
Harold just smiled.
Unmoving. Patient. Like a cat watching chaos it started.
He let them shout until the noise reached its peak — then raised one hand.
Instant silence.
Harold Yamaki:
“Oh, my, my… you’re all so passionate. It’s adorable.”
His voice dripped with playful cruelty.
Harold:
“You say you won’t kill. You believe that, truly. But belief is a fragile thing. You don’t know each other — not really. You know titles, not hearts.”
He stepped down from the podium, boots clicking softly.
His eyes glimmered under the chandelier light.
Harold:
“All it takes is one whisper, one secret, one motive. Then, someone you trust will become someone’s headline.”
A hush fell over the room.
The playful twinkle in his tone only made the words more chilling.
Harold:
“You may think you’re united, but desperation is the sharpest blade. A friend can kill a friend, a lover can betray a lover, and all it takes…”
He snapped his fingers.
Harold:
“…is a reason.”
Myrtle Chang: “You’re sick.”
Harold (smiling): “Oh, I’ve been called worse.”
Arthur Present: “You think you can break us with words?”
Harold: “Oh, not with words. With truth.”
He started circling them slowly, like a predator toying with its prey.
His tail flicked lazily as he leaned near Paulie Louis, speaking softly.
Harold:
“You asked about walking away, didn’t you, dear Paulie? Tell me — are you sure everyone here would rather die than escape?”
Paulie’s eyes hardened, but she didn’t answer.
Mariah City: “Oh, hell no — don’t start that manipulative therapy crap with us, Mr. Cat Man!”
She stepped forward, finger jabbing toward him.
Mariah: “You don’t scare me! You ain’t nothing but a furry with a god complex!”
A few people gasped.
Neely Pearl (snickering): “She’s gonna get us all killed.”
Julian Merwin: “I mean, I love the energy, though.”
Harold chuckled softly.
Harold:
“Feisty, aren’t we? It’s that fire I admire about you, Miss City. Though I’d suggest… controlling it.”
Mariah (snapping): “Oh, I got control, baby — and these hands are about to introduce themselves!”
She stormed toward him, fury radiating off her like heat.
Robert Finn: “Mariah, no—!”
Jackie Yamata: “Girl, don’t!”
Paulie Mae: “Mariah, stop!”
But it was too late.
Mariah lunged forward, ready to swing — and before her fist could even rise, the ceiling above let out a mechanical clunk.
Everyone froze.
Then —
WHUMP!
A gigantic bear — a real, living black bear — fell straight from the ceiling, landing right on top of Mariah.
Mariah: “WHAT—?! AAAH!! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!”
The bear let out a deep, lazy grunt. It wasn’t attacking. Just… sitting.
Right on top of her.
Like a living, breathing, 500-pound paperweight.
Neely Pearl (gasping): “Is that… a bear?!”
Will King: “Bro. He dropped a literal bear. From the ceiling.”
Julian Merwin: “That’s not security — that’s animal warfare!”
Robert Finn (shrieking): “WHY IS IT BREATHING?!”
The bear blinked slowly, yawned, and shifted its weight slightly.
Mariah groaned from underneath.
Mariah (muffled): “Get this overgrown rug off me before I lose my mind!”
Harold smiled, clasping his hands behind his back.
Harold:
“Now, now. No need to panic. He’s perfectly harmless — unless I tell him otherwise. His name’s Custard, by the way. Isn’t he adorable?”
The bear let out a low, sleepy growl — like a snore.
Heather Metal: “Adorable? He’s crushing her spine!”
Harold: “Consider it… a gentle reminder.”
He turned his gaze to the rest of the group, golden eyes glowing faintly.
Harold:
“Rule number one — violence toward the mayor is strictly prohibited. It disrupts the holiday cheer.”
“Normally, the punishment for attacking me would be far more… permanent. But since this is our first offense, I’ll be generous.”
He gestured casually.
The bear slowly stood up, gave a slow huff, and wandered off the stage — straight through a set of automated double doors that opened just for it.
Mariah groaned, lying flat on the marble floor, hair a mess, pride shattered.
Mariah: “You did not just drop a whole bear on me.”
Harold (cheerfully): “I did, yes.”
Mariah: “You’re lucky I can’t sue you!”
Harold: “On the contrary — I believe you just agreed to the terms and conditions by surviving.”
The group tried — and failed — not to laugh.
Neely Pearl (snickering): “Well, she wanted to fight him.”
Jake Belle: “And she got bearly what she asked for.”
Robert Finn: “You did not just make a pun right now!”
Mariah (snarling): “I hate all of you.”
Harold chuckled softly, clearly entertained.
Harold:
“Now that we’ve clarified the rules of conduct, let’s try to keep things… civilized. We wouldn’t want to spoil the festivities, would we?”
He returned to his podium, tail swaying slowly.
Harold:
“Remember, my dear citizens — your choices define you. Every argument, every alliance, every spark of anger… they all have consequences. Even now, some of you are beginning to wonder — who can I trust?”
The words settled like a fog over the room.
Nobody responded. Not even Mariah.
Harold (smiling):
“Good. That’s exactly how it should feel.”
He clapped his hands once, and the Town Hall lights flickered to festive red and green.
Harold:
“Now then, go enjoy your evening, everyone. Eat, drink, and be merry — while you still can.”
He turned, humming faintly as he walked offstage, the sound of his footsteps echoing softly.
Mariah (still glaring): “I swear to God, next time he drops something, it better be a clue.”
Neely Pearl: “Or a phone.”
Robert Finn: “Or therapy.”
Julian Merwin: “Girl, we’re gonna need all three.”
The camera slowly panned up toward the ceiling, where a faint claw mark — from the bear — scraped the marble above.
Snow began falling again through the skylight.
The marble floor still had a faint dusting of fur where Custard had plopped through the ceiling. Mariah City coughed and spat out a tiny snowflake of confetti that had lodged in her hair. She slid out from under the bear’s weight with an indignant squawk, hair in absolute disarray and dignity temporarily missing in action.
Jackie Yamata and Seth Norway were already at her side — one helping with hair and makeup, the other more quietly assessing whether the bear had been drugged or trained. The contrast was perfect: Jackie fussing, Patrick-star-Level glam; Seth deadpan and ominous, as if the bear might be occult.
Jackie (brushing Mariah’s hair back with theatrical care): “Girl, you look like a shattered snow globe, but in a good way.”
Mariah (snapping): “Take. Your. Hands. Off. My. Wig.”
Seth (softly): “She’ll be fine. Bear didn’t bite—just used as a reminder. Controlled.”
Jackie planted a light kiss on Mariah’s forehead like a bandage, and she swatted his hand away, huffing in a way that was equal parts fury and embarrassed gratitude.
Mariah (to Seth, low): “You see that? He drops animals from the ceiling like party favors. That’s unhinged.”
Seth (cold): “It’s theatrical control. He’s demonstrating his ability to manipulate the environment — and to weaponize life for intimidation.”
Across the auditorium the rest of the group was still buzzing — murmurs, occasional nervous laughter, forced jokes. Harold returned to the podium as if nothing had happened, tail flicking with the sort of composure that made the marquee lights seem nervous.
He lifted a hand — the room quieted reflexively. He gestured, and the stage lights dimmed into a channel of red and gold that painted everyone’s faces like ornaments.
Harold (smooth, relish in every syllable):
“Thank you for your dramatic enthusiasm. A performance is always more memorable when the audience participates.”
A murmur of nervous noise. Then Harolds’ smile widened; he turned, and two stage technicians (robotic, sterile attendants) rolled out a single gigantic present — the size of a small car — wrapped in glossy red paper trimmed with an impossibly large silver bow. It sat center-stage like a monolith of promise.
Harold: “Now then. You clamor for motive, do you not? For a reason to do what you must do or to hold your ground?”
He paced slowly around the box. Each step was choreographed.
Harold: “You struck a curious note earlier — Miss Heather mentioned there are no animals in this city. An observation I found… intriguing.”
He paused, letting the sentence hang like tinsel in wind.
Harold:
“So, for our first motive… I thought I’d give you something closer to home.”
He tapped a small console on the podium. The huge bow shuddered. A hydraulic hiss — soft, obscene — and the present’s lid peeled back in layers like a blooming metal flower.
The audience inhaled.
Inside the box were dozens of cages — stacked, compartmentalized, like a surreal pet store installed inside the present. The cages weren’t cheap wire; they were bespoke glass-and-steel units, each with soft bedding, feeders, and… a collar. Bright collars, each fitted with a tiny blinking light and a small tag. Some collars had sensors visible, little plates etched with numbers.
The animals poured into view: a dozen different species, not cartoonish but real — foxes with fur fluffed like winter stoles, raccoons peering with clever hands, a pair of owls blinking in the stage-light halo, a nervous bobcat pacing, a flock of caged parrots squawking in limited loops, a couple of small deer, and several more creatures — each striking and alive. They pressed against glass and bars, nostrils flaring and eyes reflecting the stage lights.
A stained glass of sound rose — barks, chirps, the metallic rattle of paws against cage.
Heather’s face went pale. Her earlier observation snapped into focus for everyone. The absence of animals had not been an oversight, she realized — they had been removed, contained. Now the animals were before them, with collars that blinked like countdowns.
Harold (softly): “Meet the city’s erstwhile nature. Isn’t it wonderful to reunite them with society?”
Harold (voice brightening): “Only — this holiday, they’re restless.”
The creatures chirped and shifted. A fox skittered along its enclosure, growling low. Owls beat their wings, feather dust puffing like snow. The parrots tried to mimic the mayor’s voice and produced a broken echo that was unnerving.
Harold strode to the glass and tapped one collar. The light on it switched from green to a strobe of orange; the animal screeched once and lunged against the barrier. The entire block of cages trembled with a ripple of panic.
Seth (quietly, to Jackie): “Those are control collars. He can modify their behavior remotely.”
Jackie (wide eyed): “You can’t do that to birds…”
Seth: “He already did.”
Harold turned back to them, smiling like the conductor of a very dangerous orchestra.
Harold:
“Now, as I promised — a motive. You were curious about what drives someone to kill, weren’t you?”
“Here is motive, presented plainly: fear. Hunger. Survival. Chaos.”
He tapped another button on the podium. The cage LED’s flashed; for a second eyelids went wild across animal faces — the parrots shrieked, the foxes pushed against their partitions, and a bobcat let out a sound that made blood run cold in the walls.
Harold:
“In just a moment, I will open the outer locks on these cages. I will not release the animals on you… yet.”
(he paused, and the silence thickened)
“But I will allow them to become reactive. Let them rage within their confines. Let them mark their restlessness. If you prefer not to be torn apart while the city watches, then perhaps... one of you can do what is necessary to calm them.”
A ripple of speech — no, argument — arose instantly.
Paulie Mae (soft, horrified): “You can’t—this is animal cruelty!”
Harold (mild): “It’s a test. But more importantly, it demonstrates the pressure of need.”
Mariah (voice raw): “So we hurt someone and it stops? You want us to murder to silence animals?”
Harold: “You could also... not. Coexist. But when hunger and panic rise, not all loyalties hold. That is what motives are made of.”
Harold raised his hand so nobody could interrupt. He smiled — but it was a smile that made marrow cold.
Harold:
“The collars have sensors. They monitor stress, heart rate, and external stimuli. If someone commits murder and the system records a resolution signal — the collars will register the pacification protocol and calm. The animals will quiet. The city will relax. Think of it as... a reset.”
Screams of disbelief cut like glass. The parrots screamed in sympathetic rhythmic loops. The bobcat yowled.
Seth (to Harold): “You can’t expect us to—”
Harold: “I’m not expecting. I am presenting. The options are plain.”
Paulie Louis, eyes flint-steady, stepped forward. Her voice was small but shaped in knife edges.
Paulie Louis: “If someone kills, the blackened ’walks free’… and the rest of us die if we pick wrong. And the animals are the incentive.”
Harold: “Precisely. Incentive. Motivation. Pressure.”
Jackie (hissing under breath): “You’re sick.”
Harold (sweet): “I prefer theatrical.”
Slowly, the animals’ agitation heightened. The collars started flashing faster, the sensors reactive to the mayor’s commands. The parrots bit their perch ropes; the foxes circled like small, elegant whirlwinds. The bobcat’s eyes fixed on the audience with predatory patience. It was a slow, sustained crescendo of animal panic — not released, but dangerously alive and volatile in its confinement.
Harold (leaning on the podium): “I will give you time. Tonight, tonight you may speak, form bonds, or form plans. Tomorrow, I will push the system further. But remember: motives arise quickly when Sanctuary becomes threatened.”
Mariah (shouting): “You can’t make us feel responsible for these animals being stressed! You’re the one who brought them here!”
Harold: “Indeed. I brought them here — and you are the public stage which will determine their fate.”
He let the last word sit like a bell toll.
Seth (quietly, through clenched teeth): “He’s engineering the moral calculus. He’s deliberately giving them an impetus to desperation.”
Heather (voice small, eyes on the animals): “Why remove animals from a city in the first place?”
Harold (almost playful): “Because the city was an experiment. To see how you perform when your environment is sanitized. You noticed something absent — humanity’s wildness. I thought it only fair to reintroduce it.”
The crowd murmured, splitting between rage and analysis and the thin thread of panic. Many looked at one another as if tallying who they could trust. Every pair of eyes suddenly held a different weight.
Harold clapped once — a polite, soft clap that rippled through the hall.
Harold:
“Enjoy the evening. Meaningful conversations are a great place to begin. You’ll need to know who you can rely on. Who you’d defend. Who would defend you. Motives aren’t always obvious… sometimes, they’re hunger. Sometimes, they’re petty vengeance. Sometimes, they’re necessity.”
He stepped back into the shadow of the podium, letting the cages’ lights strobe ominously.
Harold (final):
“For now, I’ll leave the animals caged, have them press and roar into your ears, but not quite break loose. Let them remind you — nothing here is permanent, and the next decision you make may be fatal... for you, or for someone else.”
The animals howled — a collective, terrifying orchestra — and the sound hit the assembled Ultimates with the force of a physical wave.
Mariah (to Jackie, voice shaking): “This is bullshit. We’re not doing this.”
Jackie: “No. We don’t have to. But we do have to survive the night.”
Seth (quietly): “And decide who we are under pressure.”
The camera pulled out as the auditorium dissolved into frantic, frightened conversations — alliances formed in whispers, accusations in a glance — everyone’s faces lit by the blinking collars and the cold stage lights. Above them, Harold watched from the podium like a conductor awaiting the first note.
The cages rattled like a drumbeat. The collar lights blinked faster — orange, then red, then a feverish pink.
Screams built in the background: high animal shrieks, the scrape of claws on metal, wings thudding against glass.
Mariah City took a slow step backward, trembling.
Mariah: “He’s bluffing. He’s gotta be bluffing.”
Seth Norway (quietly): “No. He’s demonstrating escalation.”
Harold Yamaki (cheerful): “Oh, I do love that word. Escalation.”
He pressed another button on the podium.
The ribboned stage lights dimmed to black and red stripes.
The giant present split further apart — like a blooming nightmare flower — and the cages rose slowly on mechanical lifts. The room filled with the sound of locks disengaging.
Julian Merwin: “Harold. Don’t you dare.”
Harold: “Oh, I dare.”
Click. Click. Click.
Every click was a lock coming undone.
The animals went silent for one long, terrible heartbeat.
Then the collars flashed crimson, and the sound came — growls, shrieks, frantic clattering.
Heather Metal: “Oh my god—!”
Paulie Louis: “He’s actually doing it—!”
Harold (pleasantly): “Ah-ah. Remember, you always have a choice.”
He tapped the final switch.
The cage doors burst open.
A hurricane of sound filled the Town Hall.
Foxes shot out like blurs of snow; birds screamed and filled the rafters in a cyclone of feathers. The bobcat vaulted from its cage, hissing. The parrots mimicked the crowd’s screams in horrible broken loops —
“HELP! HELP! HELP—!”
“RUN—RUN—RUN—!”
Someone screamed — maybe Will, maybe Mark — as a raccoon skittered between their legs.
The deer burst from the side enclosure, hooves slamming marble.
Emma Violet: “MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!”
The crowd scattered. The elegant, snow-globed Town Hall dissolved into chaos — tables overturned, chairs splintered, lights flickering.
The enormous Christmas wreath snapped loose and crashed onto the floor, scattering ornaments like shrapnel.
Harold just stood on his podium, hands clasped behind his back, smiling.
Harold:
“Marvelous, isn’t it? Panic — the purest form of self-awareness.”
A fox leapt from the stage toward the crowd — Hue Trinity grabbed Nicholas Sour by the collar, dragging him backward as it hit the floor where he’d stood.
Nicholas: “MY CANDY BAG—!”
Hue: “SCREW YOUR CANDY BAG, RUN!”
Feathers poured like snow as parrots dive-bombed the chandeliers. The lights strobed.
Mariah shrieked as a raccoon scuttled over her boots; Neely Pearl kicked it gently aside, pulling her toward the doors.
Neely: “Come on, diva, this is not the time for another concert!”
Mariah: “Screw you—AND THE CAT-MAN—AND THIS WHOLE FAKE CITY!”
Seth and Arthur Present tried to pull open the main entrance doors — the same ones that had shocked them earlier — and the mechanisms groaned.
Seth: “It’s locked again—!”
Arthur: “Not for long!”
A hawk dove from above; Seth ducked. Arthur threw a chair at it. The impact shattered a pane of frosted glass. Cold air rushed in, whistling like a ghost.
Paulie Mae: “There! The side exit!”
She pointed toward a smaller corridor — the emergency hall lined with stained glass.
The deer smashed into the podium, shattering the mic and the console.
The mayor didn’t flinch. He raised his voice calmly above the chaos.
Harold:
“Run, run, run, little citizens! Isn’t it invigorating? You were all so calm before — look at you now! Alive, terrified, beautiful.”
Riko Hoyomisha grabbed Kayegama Yoshe’s arm as they ran.
Riko: “We need to go—!”
Kayegama: “He’s enjoying this. He’s watching everything!”
Riko: “Then let’s give him a show!”
They vaulted over the fallen tree, narrowly avoiding a fox that darted across the room.
The glass above the front door suddenly shattered completely — and for a split second, silence.
Then — creak, crack, BOOM — the massive double doors blew open.
The cold December wind surged through the hall. Snowflakes twisted into the strobe lights.
Harold’s voice (amplified through hidden speakers):
“Oh my, the door’s open! What impeccable timing.”
He laughed — genuine laughter, rich and delighted — as the Ultimates poured out through the open entrance, pushing, stumbling, tripping over each other and the shattered glass.
Mariah (screaming as she runs): “I’M SUING EVERYONE IN THIS CITY!”
Jackie: “Good luck finding a lawyer, sis!”
Robert Finn: “The animals are the lawyers now!”
Neely Pearl: “Run first, joke later!”
They tumbled into the neon-snowed plaza, the red and green lights of the city flickering overhead like sirens. The distant sound of growls echoed from inside the Town Hall.
The camera lingered back on Harold, standing amid the wreckage, untouched.
Snow and feathers drifted around him. The animals prowled the floor below the stage, but none approached him — as if he carried an invisible boundary they wouldn’t cross.
He raised his hand, catching a single floating ornament that had survived the chaos.
He examined his reflection in its cracked surface and smiled faintly.
Harold (softly, to himself):
“Perfect. Let the festivities begin.”
The lights above him flickered one final time —
the giant Christmas tree outside glowed blood-red for an instant —
~ Emma's POV~
The camera follows Emma Violet, sprinting through the icy street, breath fogging the air. Her skateboard dangles from her backpack, bumping against her shoulder as she runs. Behind her, something heavy thunders across the pavement — each step shaking loose snow from rooftops.
A low, guttural roar splits the silence.
Emma (gasping): “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me—!”
The camera whips around: a bear, massive and furious, barreling after her. The same kind of bear Harold dropped on Mariah — but this one isn’t calm. Its collar blinks an angry crimson.
Emma darts around a corner, sliding on the slick road. She ducks between parked holiday floats and glowing candy-cane displays, knocking over a giant decorative reindeer.
Emma (panting): “Nope. Nope. Nope. Not today, Santa!”
The bear crashes through the float behind her, fake snow exploding into the air like smoke. A huge wreath spins into the street.
Emma sprints across the fountain plaza, neon reflections swirling on the water’s surface. The bear’s reflection looms larger, closer, closing the gap.
She grabs a fallen Christmas garland, looping it around a pole — vaulting herself forward in a desperate leap. The bear lunges — claws catching the garland — it snaps.
The momentum carries the bear forward, straight toward Latoya’s Café & Diner.
SMASH!
The glass windows shatter in a burst of blue and red neon light. Shards fly through the snow as the bear’s massive frame crashes into the tables inside. The building erupts with screams — chaotic, overlapping, human panic mixed with the bear’s furious bellows.
The camera doesn’t linger — it cuts with Emma as she ducks behind a snow-covered car, trembling, eyes wide. The café’s interior flickers red through the shattered glass.
Emma (under breath): “No... no, no, no... please tell me nobody—”
Another roar shakes the block.
Emma takes off again, sprinting toward the boys’ house. Her boots pound the pavement, the neon glow streaking past her as the camera sways with each frantic step. She slides across the icy porch, grabs the doorknob, twists it—
Unlocked.
She bursts inside and slams the door shut behind her, locking it with trembling hands. The sound of her rapid breathing fills the quiet.
The room is dimly lit, only the flicker of a TV that’s lost signal glowing in the corner. A pair of red holiday lights blink softly in the window, throwing her face in flashes of color.
Emma (breathing heavily): “Okay… okay, Emma. You’re fine. You’re good. You’re—”
A floorboard creaks behind her.
She spins.
Hue Trinity steps out from the shadows of the living room, his long braids half-lit by the TV’s static glow. His yo-yo dangles loosely in his hand, the string glimmering faintly.
Hue (low, steady): “Close it. Deadbolt.”
Emma: “I already did.”
Hue: “Good.”
They stand there for a second — both panting, trying to catch their breath, the sounds of chaos faintly muffled outside.
Emma (breathless laugh): “You too, huh?”
Hue: “Yeah. Tried to make it to Clarence’s shop, but—”
He glances toward the window, where a flicker of motion passes — a fox darting across the snow. The distant sound of more screams.
Hue: “—I figured I’d rather not get turned into Christmas dinner.”
Emma leans against the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor, still shaking.
Emma: “A bear. A freaking bear, Hue.”
Hue (half-laughing, half-serious): “Yeah, I saw it. You outran it?”
Emma: “Barely.”
They both pause. The pun hits. Despite the terror, they share a quiet, disbelieving laugh — the kind that comes from exhaustion and adrenaline.
Emma (rubbing her face): “I hate that this is funny right now.”
Hue: “That’s the point. If we stop laughing, we start losing it.”
For a long second, they just sit there — listening to the muffled chaos outside. The faint, rhythmic flicker of lights through the frost-covered window gives the scene an uneasy calm.
Hue (quietly): “You think anyone got hurt in the café?”
Emma doesn’t answer right away. She stares at the floor. The only sound is the hum of broken electricity in the walls.
Emma (soft): “I don’t know. I hope not.”
The lights flicker again — for just a moment, they both see movement outside. A shadow — too big to be human — passing by the window. The collar light glows faintly red.
They freeze. Neither speaks. The shadow pauses at the door.
Hue (bare whisper): “Don’t move.”
The bear’s heavy breathing is faintly audible through the door — slow, deliberate.
Then silence.
Hue grips his yo-yo tighter, ready to strike. Emma clutches the doorknob instinctively, afraid to breathe.
A long pause. Then the sound of slow footsteps retreating into the snow.
Emma (exhales quietly): “We’re not safe here.”
Hue (grimly): “We’re not safe anywhere.”
The camera pans up to the window — outside, the bear’s shape vanishes down the street, snow swirling behind it. The glowing red collar blinks out into the dark.
~Guys House~
The camera pans across the living room. A cracked mug steams on the table; the fireplace TV casts faint static light. Emma and Hue sit on the couch, trying to breathe normally again.
Emma (half-laugh): “You know what’s crazy? We were supposed to have a quiet Christmas.”
Hue (smirking): “Yeah, quiet’s definitely canceled.”
Emma: “Guess the universe hates me.”
Hue: “The universe hates everyone right now.”
They share a small, nervous laugh. Outside, wind howls through the alley. Then — a sharp crack.
Both freeze.
Hue: “…What was that?”
Emma (listening): “Not the bear.”
Another crack. This one sharper — glass breaking. The sound comes from the kitchen.
Hue gestures for her to stay back and steps cautiously toward the hall. The camera follows from behind his shoulder: pale light flickering through the doorway, snowflakes drifting through a broken windowpane.
Something moves on the counter.
At first it looks like black ribbon sliding down the cabinets — then more appear. Dozens of thin shapes slither from the window frame and vent grates. The floor begins to shimmer with motion.
Hue (whisper): “…Snakes.”
The first one drops onto the tile with a wet thud. Then another. And another. A hissing tide floods the kitchen floor, glinting red from the holiday lights.
Emma (shrieking): “NOPE — NOPE — NOPE — NOPE — !”
A large snake rears up and lunges. Hue reacts instantly — his yo-yo snaps forward with a metallic whirr, striking the creature mid-air and flinging it back into the sink. It hisses and coils away.
Hue (shouting): “UPSTAIRS! NOW!”
Emma doesn’t argue. They sprint toward the staircase as more snakes pour into the living room vents like water spilling downhill. Hue lashes his yo-yo across the bannister, knocking back two that slither close to Emma’s boots. The sound of scales scraping wood follows them up the steps.
Emma (panting): “This is NOT a holiday special!”
Hue: “More like ‘How the Grinch Ate the Animal Control Budget.’ Keep moving!”
They reach the landing. Hue yanks open the nearest door — a small bathroom. He shoves Emma inside, slams the door, and twists the lock.
For a moment, only breathing.
Hue flips on the overhead light. The hum is deafening in the silence. Water drips from the faucet in steady beats. He wedges a towel under the gap at the bottom of the door.
Emma (gasping, shaking): “Tell me that didn’t just happen.”
Hue (checking his yo-yo string): “Oh, it happened. They’re controlled too — had collars on some of ’em.”
Emma: “He released snakes into a holiday city. What’s next, reindeer with lasers?”
Hue: “Don’t give him ideas.”
They both laugh weakly, the sound brittle against the tile walls. The laughter dies when something thumps against the bathroom door — once, twice, then slides away. A faint hiss trails down the hallway.
Hue sets the yo-yo on the counter, string taut, ready.
Hue (quietly): “We wait here. Until it’s quiet. Then we move.”
Emma (nodding): “Yeah. Wait. And breathe.”
They sit on the floor, backs to the tub. The bathroom light flickers, casting alternating shadows across their faces. Outside, the faint rasp of scales fades into the night.
Emma (whisper): “…Hue?”
Hue: “Yeah?”
Emma: “Thanks. For not letting me get eaten by reptile Christmas decorations.”
Hue (half-smile): “Anytime.”
The camera lingers on the closed door, towel trembling slightly as something brushes past on the other side. Then silence.
Civilians:
Heather Metal/ Ultimate VSCO Girl
Kayegama Yoshe/Ultimate Freestyle rollerblader times_places
Riko Hoyomisha/Ultimate Fencer paul
Johnathan Coffee/Ultimate Barista Joshua
Aruha Suguyama/ Ultimate violinist blue
Arthur Smith/Ultimate male model Imprincearthur
Jessie Kowalski/Ultimate Tarot Card reader Jessiekowalski
Jake Belle/ Ultimate Scam Artist
Will King/Ultimate Gamer Icebeast
Mark Traverse/Ultimate Influencer evrtngbagel
Mariah City/ Ultimate Livestreamer
Myrtle Chang/Ultimate Swimmer stuartlittle16
Neely Pearl/ Ultimate Drag Queen
Julian Merwin/ Ultimate male stripper
Robert Finn/ Ultimate Technician
Austin Sobriquet/Ultimate professor Sobriquet
Chase Hallow/ Ultimate Mangaka
Jackie Yamata/ Ultimate Pop Idol
Emma Violet/ Ultimate Skateboarder
Paulie Mae/ Ultimate Pottery Maker
Seth Norway/ Ultimate Occultist
Arthur Present/ Ultimate Knight
Hue Trinity/ Ultimate Yo-yo Pro
Paris Ross/ Ultimate Cat Lover
Nicholas Sour/ Ultimate Candy Lover
Pualie Louis/ Ultimate Seamstress
Reader's Tag:
Spinfur (as punishment)
Kovaze wants to be rude, so this is a two-parter, and also, so sorry this is late. I got into a bad accident (hurt my leg badly), so I was resting and doing tournament things (My team won #teamKemi)
0 votes, 8 points
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